A Night at Al's
by amarochstar
Summary: Sherlock requests John to accompany him on a case, and sweet, unsuspecting John is in for a show. A strip-show that is. Just a bit of fluff and frustration inspired by a song. Rated for innuendo more than content.


Ok, so this is my first foray into writing for the BBC Sherlock fandom. It was an idea that just hit me as I was driving and I ended up writing this whole thing on my phone over the course of 4 hours at my friend's house.

All mistakes are my own. This is un-betad and un-britpicked.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong> - I own nothing other than the idea, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and these versions belong to Moffat and Gatiss.

I think that covers everything, right? Oh, there is implied slash, but no actual m/m in this one. I can assure that I will write more later, just don't knowwhat I'll post.

The song, in case you're wondering, is Secert (Premiere 5 Remix) off the album Call & Answer (it's an album of Maroon 5 remixes). Ok, on to the story!

* * *

><p>Al's Cabaret. 9:30.<p>

Come if convenient.

SH

John sighed as he put his phone on the desk next to him and turned back to his patient. "I apologize, but there will be at least one more text coming. My friend thinks he's... funny." He almost said 'important' but if he had to be honest, to him, Sherlock _is_ important. On cue his phone chimed.

If inconvenient, come anyway.

SH

John shook his head and resumed his exam. The short woman in front of him had a bronchial infection irritated by the fact that she smoked. He wrote her a prescription for an antibiodic and told her to cut back on smoking. She promised she'd try, but John knew how far that worked, even with the patches Sherlock "_snuck_" at least one cig a day. As the woman thanked John and left, his phone chimed again.

Should be entertaining

John quirked his brow. He couldn't remember the last time Sherlock actually called _anything_ entertaining. As his only plans for the evening had been to sit in his armchair eating a sandwich from the shop downstairs, he figured he could humor Sherlock once more.

* * *

><p>John got to Al's at exactly 9:30, he paid the cover at the door and entered the darkened building. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't <em>this<em>. From the outside you couldn't tell that this was some sort of strip club. There were men and women sitting at the tables and booths lining the room, scantily clad waitresses, and a stunning brunette woman on stage who clearly didn't know what she was doing.

One of the waitresses saw him looking around, and walked up to him. "Are you by chance Dr. Watson?" she asked.

"Um, yeah. How did you know? What is this?"

"Sherly said you'd look nervous. It's amateur night." Seeing his confusion she decided to fill him in, "Last week one of the contestants," she gestured towards the stage, "stole something from the boss's office. As they're all back tonight Sherlock has offered to help. He had me save you a table, it's this way."

John winced inwardly when he noticed that the table in front of the stage was empty. _Of course. Of bloody course._ He was almost certain Sherlock didn't _need_ him to sit front and center, but wanted him to sit there to see how irritated he could get.

"Can I get you anything to drink sir?"

"Some scotch, neat, water back." The woman headed off to the bar as John took his jacket off and hung it on the chair. He settled into his seat and the woman brought him his drink and he noticed that the brunette on stage had given up trying to dance, and was just taking her clothes off at this point. She was trying to be seductive and pouting in his direction as he struggled to keep his eyes on her face and off her _attributes_. It had been a _long_ time since anyone... he sighed and knocked back a healthy portion of his scotch.

"A round of applause for Stacy!" There was a smattering of applause as the brunette scooped up her clothes and stalked off the stage. John was considering what he'd make Sherlock to do to make up for his... _discomfort_.

"Everyone give it up for Benedict Cumberbatch!" the DJ exclaimed as he started the song.

John almost choked on his tongue, earlier that same week Sherlock had mentioned thinking that was an _amazing_ alias.

_Oh, dear God, please..._

John wasn't entirely sure how he wanted that sentence to end, but never got to finish anyway because Sherlock threw aside the curtain and strode forward scanning the crowd, smirking when he saw John. He started unbuttoning the jacket he was wearing, swaying his hips as he toyed with the lapel. John swallowed thickly, it was his favorite of Sherlock's suit jackets, the light gray one, which went flying towards the curtain as Sherlock started slowly teasing the buttons of his light blue shirt into opening.

John struggled to not watch Sherlock's long fingers plucking at the buttons and instead focused on his face. Steel blue eyes focused on John. John felt the temperature rise and shifted his gaze to Sherlock's lips which were moving.

_Oh Christ, he's singing along._ Since the music had started John was aware that the song was vaguely erotic. As he watched, Sherlock mouthed, "I know I don't know you, but I want you so bad. Everyone has a secret, ahh, can they keep it? Oh, no, they can't."

While he was watching Sherlock's lips the tall detective had managed to lose his shirt and was wearing a black leather waist cincher. John gripped his drink so hard he felt the glass creak.

Sherlock suddenly ripped off the black pants he was wearing and John dropped his drink back onto the table and clenched his fists, determined to not loose control. He watched as the tall pale adonis grabbed the pole and started thrusting his hips and wiggling his black satin clad ass. Sherlock turned so his back was against the pole and stretched his arms up to grip it as he slowly lowered himsef towards the ground, spreading his legs and pushing back into the pole.

John licked his lips and switched his focus back to Sherlock's. "Cool these engines, calm these jets. I ask you 'How hot can it get?' And as you wipe off beads of sweat, slowly you say 'I'm not there yet.'"

John felt his cock twitch and he took a sip of water. He watched as his mad, brilliant, and _damn sexy_ flatmate slowly pushed his butt up and against the pole, the waist cincher making what was already a shapely bottom look obscenely lush. John often had a fantasy of slapping that pert arse, but right now he really wanted to bite it.

He focused once more on Sherlock, watching as he sensuously ran his left hand up the length of his torso, knotted it briefly in his hair and ran it down his elegantly pale neck, stopping just above the black corset to tug at his left nipple. His right hand started just at his collarbone and headed steadily south, just ghosting past where John would sell his mother to touch.

John started, this line of thinking wasn't good. It would lead to him needing to find a new flatmate... and getting his heart shattered, if truth be told. He furrowed his brow, when did he...

_Well, shit. I went and fell in love with my sociopathic flatmate._ With that thought John knocked back the rest of his scotch.

"A round of aplause for Benedict! That was amazing!" the DJ had to shout over the loud cheering at Sherlock's performance.

John noticed the mildly quizzical look Sherlock shot him as he headed backstage. _Fuck. Fuck! He figured it out!_ John's mental berating of himself was cut short as the woman from before walked up to him. "Dr. Watson? Follow me please."

John watched her shoes as she led him backstage and knocked on a door before opening it and gesturing for John to walk in. "Um..." he began, she merely smiled and closed the door behind him.

The room seemed empty, but Sherlock's clothes were still folded up on the settee. "Was this entirely necessary?" John asked the open air.

"Yes John. The contestants had to see me as one of their own to open up to me," Sherlock answered from behind the screen. "Did you enjoy the show?"

John looked at his feet and felt his face flush, "That Stacy girl really can't dance." _Safe answer._

"Not an answer." Sherlock came out from around the screen wearing his blue housecoat that made his eyes seem as blue as a deep ocean.

John shook his head to clear it. _Not safe. Don't think about his eyes. Don't think about staring into his eyes as you... _He bit his cheek and looked at Sherlock to see his startling blue eyes fixed on him. "What?"

"Nothing." Sherlock looked at the ground like it just told him that the moon was actually made of cheese. "It's just..." he sighed. _Sherlock actually sighed. What was going on?_

"Sherlock. Tell me what you're thinking." John was mildly worried, he'd never heard Sherlock sigh. Rant, ramble, and howl (literally)... but never _sigh_.

Sherlock saw the concern on John's face and smirked. Instead of answering verbally, he tugged on the sash of his robe and let it fall to the floor.

John's pupils dialated and he felt his mouth go dry. Sherlock was standing in front of him still in just the waist cincher and briefs with a wicked smirk twisting his lips. For one glorious second John considered taking Sherlock on the settee, one of those gorgeous long legs drapped over his shoulder as he...

"No," John shook his head and moved to walk out the door.

"Why not? You want me, I want you... it's simple mathematics," Sherlock licked his lips and moved towards John.

John raised his hands and stepped back, keeping three feet between them. "No Sherlock. It isn't simple. It is, in fact, very complicated. And... just because... you want me?" John's brain finally caught up with his anger.

"Desperately."

John shook his head again. "I'm sorry, I really am. I really, _really_ am," John looked at the ceiling, the chair, _anything_ but Sherlock. _Oh, the mirror shows a lovely angle of his arse. No! Bad thought! Yes, the sex would be hot as hell and very enjoyable... but... _"It would break my heart."

Sherlock looked as if John had slapped him. "What did you just say?"

John sighed, "I can't just... I've... it seems I have feelings for you. I can't just... just _do_ this," he concluded, staring at his toes. _He really needed to get some new shoes._

"You gorgeous, adorable, _daft_ man!" It was John's turn to look shocked. "Didn't you listen to the song?" When John failed to reply he shook his head, "Nobody can keep secrets. _Especially_ not from _me_."

John felt his ire raise, "Oh, great! So you figured since I'm so in love with you I'd just jump at the first chance to shag your brains out and be greatful for the honor!" John turned away from Sherlock, unable to even look at him as he felt his heart starting to crack. "If all I'm going to be is some cheap..." he took a breath, "I can't do this anymore Sherlock," he told the floor. "Being around you hurts too much."

John felt the heat of Sherlock's body as the taller man spun the doctor around and wrapped his arms around him. "Come now, John. Is your opinion of me so low? Are you that blind? And here I thought you were getting better at noticing the little things."

John looked at his face quizzically. Then he really _looked_ at Sherlock's face. Pupils dialated, cheeks flushed, breathing quick and shallow. All signs of arousal. But there, in the eyes... was that concern? Even... love?

"Alright, I guess I'll just have to say it." Sherlock released John and stepped back to watch his reaction. "If you want to know the truth... I've been slowly falling more and more in love with you since our first case. Well, technically since after our first case when I realized that you had shot that cabbie to save my life." John let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Sherlock quirked a brow, "Really? I thought I had been quite transparent."

"Well you bloody well weren't!" John rubbed a hand down his weathered face. "When did you realize that I...?"

Sherlock seemed confused, but quickly realized what the end of the sentence was going to be, "Two weeks ago."

John did some quick math, they had been working together for almost 8 months now. _Well, I can't really fault him. I've only just realized tonight._ "May I ask what it was that gave me away?"

"You talk in your sleep." John looked mortified. "Not always. Just when you're having bad dreams." When John said nothing Sherlock continued, "You were calling my name so I went into your room. You were clutching the pillow and crying." John blinked, if this was the dream he thought it was... "You said 'Sherlock, don't you dare leave me.' Then you started sobbing."

"Yeah, I remember. Not a good dream, that. For some reason you were with me in... I wish I didn't remember."

"Do you remember me climbing into bed behind you and rocking you until you calmed down?"

"No. Wish I did though."

They spent a few moments contemplating each other before John burt out laughing.

Sherlock, looking as offended as ever stared at him, "What in God's name could possibly be so funny?"

"This! I mean, come on! This is how you choose to clue me in to the fact that you have feelings for me?"

"Well, as I said earlier, I thought I was quite transparent! But... admittedly... I could've found a better way." Sherlock the mumbled something under his breath and John tapped his ear to signal that he hadn't heard it. "Alright, fine. I said, 'I didn't want to strip for anyone but you'."

"Oh," John made a sudden intake of breath at this new piece of information. He felt his heart skip and his cock twitch as he realized the implications & the fact that Sherlock was still standing there in a corset and briefs. "Ooh," he groaned before he could stop himself.

Sherlock smirked, "Are we all on the same page now? Good." Without waiting for a reply, Sherlock stepped up to the good doctor, wrapped his arms around his broad frame and placed a light kiss on his forehead, then his eyes, his nose, and his chin before firmly pressing their mouths together.

John couldn't stop himself from moaning at the contact, and Sherlock decided he needed to get John to make that sound again... and again, and again...


End file.
